Breakfast with Jane Austen
by Margarent Ann
Summary: GSR, Grissom's POV. A chance meeting at the park leads to breakfast, literature, and a little reconnection.


Title: Breakfast with Jane Austen  
Author: Margaret Ann  
Rating: G  
Summary: GSR, Grissom's POV. A chance meeting at the park leads to breakfast, literature, and a little reconnection.  
Spoilers: One teeny-weeny one for 5x02, Down the Drain  
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from CSI.

* * *

The last crime scene of the night was in a park, and Grissom got to it just as the sky was starting to get light. The sun hadn't quite peeked above the horizon, and the park was filled with the smell of morning--freshly cut grass and the faint scent of the flowers in the landscaping. Later, the day would get hot, but for now, it was really very lovely out.

Dew covered his shoes as he made his way through the grass toward the basketball court, and he left damp shoe prints once he hit the asphalt of the court. There had been a knife fight--almost an antiquity these days, really. Didn't most gangs just use guns? Wasn't that easier, faster? He sighed as he looked down at the two dead boys; they were so young. He shook his head, and started to work.

By the time he had finished processing the scene, the sun was well over the horizon. Shift was almost over; he'd leave the evidence to be processed, grab some paperwork from his office and head home--relatively close to the end of shift, for once. Maybe he'd grab some breakfast before going home; he was really tired of his own cooking. As he walked across the park, he wondered where Sara was, and what she was doing. It was her night off; he wondered what she was doing with the time. She still put in plenty of overtime at work, but lately, she'd been spending more and more of her free time away from the lab. "And good for her," he thought. "I hope she's doing something fun."

Unless...

Unless she's doing something fun with someone else. Some other male someone else. He blanched at the thought.

No. Surely not. He would have heard the gossip. Greg, at least, would be bemoaning the situation, if nothing else. No, she was probably at home, listening to her police scanner, or watching forensic shows taped from the Discovery channel. And though the thought of her being alone was a bit of a relief to him--"selfish, selfish," he thought at himself--it was also a sad thought. He hoped she was having fun...doing something she enjoyed...by herself. Or maybe with a female friend. Did she have any of those?

These thoughts chased themselves in circles in his head as he crossed the park, enjoying the early morning scenery and the peace and quiet. He crossed through a small copse of trees, heading for his Denali, and came upon a group of picnic tables overlooking a small (heavily irrigated) meadow. Much to his surprise, at one of these tables, sat the subject of his earlier thoughts. She looked comfortable, in jeans and a t-shirt and sandals, with a large cup of coffee at her elbow, and she was reading a book.

He stopped short, suddenly unsure of what to say or do. He couldn't just walk by her without saying anything, but he didn't want to disturb her...or the beautiful picture she made, sitting there in the early morning sun, focused so intently on what she was reading. The sun glinted in her hair, catching bright highlights that he so rarely noticed in the artificial lights of the lab and the night. She was smiling a little at something she was reading, and for a moment he was held captive by the beauty of the scene.

At that moment, she glanced up briefly, and then looked again in surprise and smiled. "Grissom!" she said brightly. "What are you doing here? Crime scene in the park?"

Embarassed at having been caught staring, he stammered a little and looked down. "I...uh...yeah, there was a, ...um...a knife fight. At the basketball court." He coughed and, to escape the pressure of the feelings that had been welling up inside him so suddenly at the sight of her, stepped into his supervisory shoes. "I'm glad to see you enjoying your night off. What are you reading?" he asked, a little brisquely, and leaned over with some interest, to see if it was a journal or text he recognized.

Grinning wryly at the swift change of mood, Sara closed the book and held up the cover for his inspection. "Jane Austen. _Pride and Prejudice_. Completely and totally unrelated to work, Boss--aren't you proud of me?" she said in a teasing tone of voice.

He smiled gently back at her and said, "Always." She looked down, still smiling. He continued, "I never took you for a fan of romance, though--even if it is classic romance."

She looked at him and replied, "You know, Jane Austen is much more than just romance. It's humor and human nature and amusement at the weaknesses and foibles of mankind. Sure, the romance is there, and it's fun, too, but there are many, many layers to Jane Austen, if you know to look." She gave him a little shake of her head and a small smile, "Come on, Griss, didn't you read Austen when you were in high school or college? Or was it just too 'girly' for you?"

He blinked, a little bemused, and was at a loss for an answer.

She suddenly stood up; apparently, she'd decided not to press the issue. "Well, I'd better go home and get some sleep before tonight's shift. I like reading at sunrise, but if I stay here for too long, I won't be able to get any sleep. Not only that, but my stomach is telling me it's time for dinner--or breakfast, whichever." As if to emphasize the point, her stomach made a little rumbling noise.

He smirked a little and said, "Well, that _does_ sound serious." He paused, and then looked down continued, "You know...I'm, ...um, about to go get some breakfast. If you like, you could come with me." The last bit came out in a rush, as if he had to get it said or let it remain forever unspoken.

When she didn't answer right away, he began to get nervous and looked up at her. She had a funny look on her face--eyes filled with incredulity, but above a small, gentle smile. "Are you sure about that, Grissom? I wouldn't want to...intrude upon your breakfast. And...don't feel you need to spend supervisory time with me just because you're...'concerned'." At her last word, the smile flashed briefly into a smirk.

"No, I'd like ...to have breakfast with you. It wouldn't be an intrusion. If it was, I wouldn't have asked you to join me. And...as for my being concerned about you..." He trailed off, looked down, took a deep breath, and started again. "My concern for you goes beyond my capacity as your supervisor. I'm also...your friend. I'd like to be your friend."

Sara cocked her head to one side for a moment, and then said, "I'd like for us to be friends again. That would be very nice."

"Well...then, let's go to breakfast. As friends."

* * *

They made arrangements to meet at a little diner on the edge of town, and had a very nice breakfast together. They talked of work, of inconsequential things--nothing to do with either one's personal life. Safe topics. They both enjoyed each other's company immensely; it was as though a piece of their lives that had been missing was suddenly returned to them that morning--so much so that they began to make sunrise breakfast meetings whenever Sara had a night off.

It turned out, of course, that Grissom had read some of Jane Austen's work when he was in high school, but he had forgotten much of the details (perhaps, he admitted to himself, because he _did_ perceive it as somewhat romantic and girly). Sara talked him into re-reading _Pride and Prejudice_, and he found everything she described on that first early-morning meeting: sharp wit and humor, and accurate portrayals of both the nobility and the foolishness of humanity. He also found himself enjoying the romance aspect of the novel more--now, he said to himself, that he was old enough and mature enough to appreciate it.

After _Pride and Prejudice_, he gave himself a refresher course on all of Austen's works, and found himself to be intrigued by all of them. More than that--he found himself comparing his own behavior to Sara to some of the men in the book who seemed to resist the idea of love, at first. Darcy, for example--though his barrier was class, and not age. He understood the barrier, but he was also beginning to understand the need to remove the barrier. For the first time in his life, he began to long for his own version of a "happy ending."

One morning, after roughly six weeks' worth of meetings in the morning on Sara's nights off (and occasionally, on his nights off as well), he decided, like Darcy, that he could "stand it no longer." He would make his move, for better or worse; hopefully, his attempt at courtship (he smiled at himself internally as he used the old-fashioned word) would not be as ill-fated as Darcy's first attempt.

He was particularly quiet at breakfast, a fact that did not escape Sara. Toward the end of the meal, she asked, "Are you feeling alright? You seem awfully quiet this morning. Rough night?"

"No, it wasn't too bad," he replied. "Hey, would you like to take a walk back in the park this morning after breakfast? I need to collect some insect samples to compare for a case." It was not true, but he hoped Sara wouldn't see through the white lie--or would at least forgive him for it if she did.

She smirked a bit--apparently, she saw through the white lie after all--but said, "Sure, as long as it isn't for too long. I need to get some sleep." He nodded, and they drove back to the park in his Denali.

The park was as beautiful as the first time they had met in it. The early morning sun shone through the leaves on the few trees, and the park was quiet. There were one or two joggers, but the scene was very peacefull and idyllic.

Once they were walking, he said, "You know...I've really enjoyed having breakfast with you these past few weeks. It's been fun getting to be friends again."

She nodded. "Yes, it has." And then she fell silent again.

Undeterred, he continued. "Sara...I ...don't want to be just friends, though."

They both stopped and turned toward one another. She looked at him with an inscrutable look on her face--was she--apprehensive? nervous? She didn't look unhappy, but neither did she look like she understood what he was getting at. He decided, in a rush of certainty, that now was not the time to be reserved.

"What I mean is, ...I'd like to know if you're interested in trying out a relationship. Romantically, I mean." He nodded, almost as if to confirm it to himself.

She smiled--finally--but still looked a little quizzical. Growing nervous at the long pause, he finally looked at her and said, "What?"

"It's just that--well, you make it sound--almost like a business proposition or something." She laughed a little.

Chagrined, he said, "Oh." Turning away, he added, "Well. Never mind." He couldn't remember being this acutely embarassed since...well, since high school, or perhaps even before that. He began walking quickly away, back toward the Denali.

"Grissom, wait!" Sara called. Not wanting to face her, but not able to deny the pleading in her voice, he stopped, but didn't turn toward her as she jogged to catch up with him. "I wasn't saying no. I was just a little surprised at how you put it, that's all--especially given all the Jane Austen you've been reading lately!" She put her hand on his arm and gently turned him toward her. "I would..._love_...to try a romantic relationship with you."

She cupped his cheek in her hand and brought his eyes to hers, and smiled. He smiled back, and simultaneously they leaned into one another. The kiss began gently, but became more heated and passionate, until finally they broke apart--only to a hand's width--and smiled at each other.

"You know," he said, "I guess we have Jane Austen to thank for this."


End file.
